


And Only the Moon Howls

by Katsuko



Series: Welcome to Beacon Hills [2]
Category: Supernatural, Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Peter Hale, Canonical Character Death, Gen, Sheriff Stilinski Is Dean Winchester, Stydia Brotp
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-22
Updated: 2016-12-10
Packaged: 2018-04-10 16:45:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 9,341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4399592
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Katsuko/pseuds/Katsuko
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When a body is found in the preserve out close to where the remains of the Hale house stand, Stiles knows better than to run out there on his own. It really doesn't stop him from going, especially when the last member of the old pack turned up at the house the previous night in a state of confusion and sporting red eyes.</p><p>Or, the one in which Stiles is not-so-reluctantly the only (very human) beta of a confused new alpha, there's a killer in the woods, and his dad is very Not Happy with the new family in town even <i>being</i> in town.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue: Into the Woods

**Author's Note:**

> So, yeah. I should very much be working on Welcome to Beacon Hills, but the muse wanted me to start on the second half of the story.
> 
> Enjoy the prologue, because goddamnit, I wanted the other part to be finished before starting on the sequel.

He did not know where he was.

That wasn’t entirely true; he knew these woods, had been raised in and thrived in them, first by mother and father then by older sister when the elders were gone. He had been reared alongside nieces and nephew, had enjoyed them with family and first love, had mourned in them when first love had died in his arms.

He had family in these woods, a life; he had lost family in them, a living nightmare of burning flesh and the scent of pain and fear and rage and death death _death—_

But that had been… earlier? Years past? He did not know, because he did not know _how he was here now._

He’d had some awareness, some knowledge that he had somehow lived when his family had died. He had somehow been aware of niece and nephew leaving, fleeing from where they had been harmed, and he did not fault them. He’d been briefly — too briefly — aware of his sister’s death with a sudden flux of raw power surging through his veins, yet when it had knocked him into darkness and he resurfaced it had fled.

That was how he knew, in an abstract sense, that he must have died for even a moment; the alpha power slipped endlessly down the family line, from one to the other, from mother to sister to himself and likely to niece. So he did not fault the alpha stealing away the only beta capable of fleeing to a safer place; were he capable, he would have fled.

But…

But he was still weak, still uncertain of many things. He let his inner wolf deal with things, sleeping when instinct told him it was safe and waking when pack was near to keep him in that state of safety.

Because even though niece and nephew had fled, he still had _pack_ close by.

There was the ex-hunter, who had been a presence his sister kept close. The one who had been married to a teacher he remembered liking, who he had mourned upon her death. There was the pup, an active little thing whom he remembered took after his own mother’s features even with hints of his paternal heritage. The pup and ex-hunter were not of blood to each other, but were a family of two. Both registered as _pack_ to his instincts, both left him feeling safer when they were around.

There was a man who smelled like the ex-hunter, possibly another ex-hunter, possibly family to the former. He only arrived with his maybe-brother or the pup or both, never on his own. He never paid much attention, really, letting instinct keep track of everything, but it felt like the new not-hunter — a lawyer, maybe? Instinct whispered _just kind helper_ sometimes — was just as much _pack_ and safety as the other two.

Sometimes a woman came along, one he did not know from the time before. She had a kind voice, and she came with a girl-pup. The two pups tended to talk among themselves, and lowered their voices when the adults were talking to have private chats. That’s how he knew the pups were both friends and rivals and family to one another in all but name.

But none of that really mattered at the moment.

Right now, he was in the woods and he _should not be there._

Right now, he should be in his room and safe, or he should be closer to the edges of town while in the woods. The other times he had been out of his room, out trying to evade That Nurse who made his instincts scream to get away, he would find himself somewhere behind the ex-hunter and pup’s house or on rarer occasions in the tree line behind the home the not-hunter and woman and girl-pup called theirs.

He should not be so close to where most of his pack had burned.

“Uncle Peter?”

He turned slowly, brow furrowed in confusion. He almost recognized that voice, but not quite. Almost as if time had changed it slowly, while he had not been there to notice it. Which made sense, because the only voices he’d heard changing over time were those of the pup and girl-pup, maturing slowly with time and increasing in sarcasm if that was possible.

The woman he saw standing at the tree line looked familiar but not. She looked like a younger version of his sister, how she had looked when she was still only mother to two young pups instead of the three she would have in her life, but the woman’s eyes weren’t right. The color was closer to the man who his sister had loved but never wed, only because neither wanted to move their packs from the territories they called home, the man who visited as frequently as he’d dared until the night he’d abruptly vanished from their lives.

Those eyes were the ones his eldest niece bore, different from those that had filled the Hale family but beautiful and bright and so very grey.

“Uncle Peter, what are you doing here?” the woman — _Laura, alpha, this was Laura_ — asked, moving from the trees and drawing closer to him. “You shouldn’t be out, the sheriff said you’ve been almost catatonic since the fire.”

He blinked at her slowly, not quite understanding the words she was saying but knowing somehow she was talking about his safe room and the ex-hunter who was _pack._

Laura frowned as she rested one hand on his shoulder, nostrils flaring slightly as she scented him. “You really aren’t that aware right now, are you, uncle,” she said quietly, almost to herself and not truly a question. “How did you even get out? I know there’s night security in the long term care ward, and Dean would have mentioned if you were doing this frequently…”

He didn’t answer, because Laura didn’t expect one. He wasn’t even sure he _could_ answer her even if he wanted to. All he knew about these sort of nights was that his instincts said to get out, to roam, to check on the pack, and that the window was open on those nights so he could easily follow the instinct.

Because the window was almost always closed, and even when it was open the screens were locked in place, except on nights like this one.

Laura was still talking, saying something about taking him back and making sure he was settled in. He wanted that, wanted to return to the safety, because his instincts were abruptly howling at him to take his alpha away from this place where their family had burned and suffered and died screaming. He nodded his head, agreeing immediately as his niece took his hand in hers and smiled warmly.

The smile left abruptly as a sound broke the moment, the sharp crack of gunfire. The stench of death, of wolfsbane, filled the air around the two of them, and Laura staggered against him. He whined and tried to hold her steady, but just the scent of the poison made him too weak to keep on his feet. The pair collapsed to the ground, Laura dragging in harsh breaths. He did not see where his niece had been shot, but he could tell that the aconite was acting too quickly for him to even attempt to get help before she died.

He wanted to howl, to mourn; Laura was going to die in the same place that the rest of their pack had been burned alive.

A hand latched itself to his neck, claws digging in deep and dragging his attention to the woman draped over him. Laura’s eyes were blazing red, black blood dotting her lips. She was trying to speak, or maybe she was speaking; he couldn’t hear if she was over the sound of his own blood pounding in his ears.

More words formed on Laura’s blood-spotted lips, and he could _almost_ tell what they were. Then her eyes flared red again as she dug her claws deeper, dragging a growl of pain from him as he felt his own eyes flash in reply. The claws held for a moment, the red draining away in his niece’s gaze to be replaced with yellow-gold before fading. The gold and the life left at the same time, only flat grey meeting his gaze as the body that had once been his alpha fell limply against his own.

Instinct howled in his veins once again, only this time it was different. _Run,_ it screamed, _get away. Find the pups. Guard. Keep safe. Danger. Danger is here. Keep the pups safe._

With a howl that was equal parts mournful and enraged, Peter Hale slipped into the full shift for the first time in his life and fled. Behind him, Laura Hale’s body — intact save for the single gunshot wound to the back, black blood covering the denim jacket she’d been wearing — lie abandoned on the ground.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title comes from a George Carlin quote: "There are nights when the wolves are silent and only the moon howls."


	2. Saturday Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just a normal Saturday evening in the Stilinski home. Until it isn't.

“Five more minutes, Stiles!”

Stiles sighed and rolled his eyes at his dad, nodding anyway as he waved a hand at him. “Yeah, sorry, Erica,” he said. “The phone police proclaims that our time’s almost up for the evening.”

On the other end of the line, his girlfriend of five years snickered. _“And that, sweetie, is why I retreated to my room when you called.”_ Almost on cue, there was the muffled sound of a door opening and a female voice saying something to Erica which made her let out an annoyed huff and a half-hearted _okay._ After a few seconds the girl spoke again.

_“Never mind, my own narc just rolled me.”_

Stiles chuckled softly. “It wouldn’t surprise me if Dad called your parents to reinforce the phone call time limit.” He grinned at Erica’s amused snort before adding, “So, tomorrow’s the last day of Thanksgiving break before we head back for the last three weeks leading up to Winter Formal. Got any plans for the day?”

_“Well, I **would** be hanging out with my boyfriend,”_ Erica drawled, _“but it seems like Momma and Pops made family day plans for tomorrow.”_

“Sounds like fun,” he replied honestly. “Your grandmother’s still in town until, like, Tuesday, right?”

_“Yep,”_ she replied, popping the p. _“I don’t mind, really. I only see Abuelita at Thanksgiving anyways because we always have Grams and Grandpa over for Christmas. We’ll still talk tomorrow, though, no matter how much Momma laments over how many minutes I’m potentially wasting when I could be, like, painting? Learning interpretive dance?”_

Stiles snickered. “See, this is why I love you, Reyes. You just say what you’re thinking.”

_“Takes a smartass to know one, Stilinski. Love you more.”_

“Nope, love you most.”

_“If that was directed at my hair, Goethel, I’mma cut a bitch when I see you Monday morning.”_

“Stiles!”

The teen cursed and fumbled the phone for just a second before shooting a Look at his dad. Dean just grinned unrepentantly at his kid and made a show of looking at his watch. Stiles heaved a sigh and said into the phone, “Gotta go, Erica, the cops just busted me.”

Erica laughed brightly. _“Okay, I should hang up before Pops comes in anyways. Talk to you tomorrow, Stiles. Love you.”_

“Love you, too, Erica. Goodnight.”

Stiles cut off the call and gave Dad the most unimpressed glower he could manage. He knew it had no real effect when the man just snorted in amusement and turned to head back into the kitchen.

“You want some pie, kiddo?” he called over his shoulder.

The teen hopped up from the couch, dropping his phone on the coffee table and following in the sheriff’s wake. He leaned on the doorframe and grinned at his dad. “What kind did Uncle G drop off for you this time on his way out to dispense righteous yet hilarious punishment on some baddie?”

Dean shrugged. “No clue,” he admitted. “You know me, I only hear _pie_ and the rest is _blah blah blah.”_

“Hence why you refuse to believe that the apples in the backyard can turn magically into apple pie,” Stiles replied with an eyeroll that would have left his Uncle Sam — aka Lydia Martin’s stepdad which made them family and added a new layer of competition to their weird-as-fuck friendship — pouting at the skilled execution.

“Lies and slander,” the sheriff said around a mouthful of what was probably cherry pie because Uncle Gabriel liked the classics. “You gonna be okay here alone tonight, kiddo?” he added seriously once he’d swallowed.

Stiles nodded. “I’ve been alone plenty of times when you’ve been on the overnight, Dad,” he reminded his father. “Besides, Uncle Sam is just a phone call and ten minute drive away. If it’s an emergency you know he’ll make it in, like, three.”

The sheriff sighed and set his empty plate in the sink. Stiles never could figure out how his dad could literally _demolish_ a slice of pie in under two minutes. “Yes, please remind me again how my brother, the district attorney, finds it perfectly fine to violate traffic laws on a whim.”

“For family emergencies, not for shits and giggles,” the teen said. He paused before adding, “Okay, maybe getting Lydia to the mall for a shoe sale wasn’t a real emergency.”

Dean snorted and ruffled his kid’s hair as he passed by him. “Lock up behind me and don’t stay up too late playing video games, okay?” he requested, voice colored with affection.

Stiles followed his dad to the door and waved him off before slipping back inside as the cruiser pulled away. He paused to lock the front door before retrieving his phone and heading for the kitchen to double check that the back door was secured as well. His only real plans for the rest of the night — especially since Erica’s parents were adamant about no phone calls after ten at night, and it was already quarter after — involved Netflix and maybe some CoD, although some more research into the Argent family’s collective whereabouts was possible.

The entire Stilinski-Remington clan, Martins included after a very long conversation before Uncle Sam officially proposed to Aunt Natalie, had a massive grudge against _that_ particular Hunter clan. Stiles’ dislike had been wholly based upon the Hale fire, and Lydia’s lips had pursed into a thin line when she learned of Kate Argent’s involvement; Cora Hale had been the girl’s best friend up until that point, and she’d never really clicked with anyone since. His hatred had only multiplied when he found out from his dad and uncle just how very xenophobic and psychotic the clan could be.

He wasn’t supposed to know about the file that Dean kept on Kate in the office safe, but while he didn’t know exactly what was in the folder he knew that it was updated as frequently as possible. So it was only being a responsible adopted son of a non-psycho hunting family for him to keep tabs on the psycho hunters whenever possible.

Stiles was just sliding the deadbolt on the back door in place when a very large _something_ slammed into it from the other side, making the entire wall shake. He jumped back with a yelp, heart pounding in his chest as he slowly stepped forward to look out the window. There was nothing in his direct line of sight, and he drew in a deep breath before letting his gaze slowly slide down…

…only to jump again when what looked like a very large, russet brown wolf reared up to rest its front paws on the window and fucking _whined_ at him through the glass.

“What the hell?” he muttered, carefully moving forward again. As he stepped closer to the door, the wolf’s whining grew louder and it pawed at the window in what seemed to be a desperate attempt to get inside. The creature’s eyes flashed red for a brief moment before fading back to blue, and in that moment Stiles realized he knew those eyes.

Disregarding his father’s locked door rule for the first time ever, Stiles threw open the lock and pulled the door open. Immediately the wolf let out a yelp and darted inside, herding the teenager away from the opening. Then it — or rather, _he_ — turned and shouldered the door closed once more and dropped its entire bulk against the wood.

Standing guard and whining like he wasn’t entirely satisfied.

Carefully, Stiles leaned forward to slide the lock closed before sinking to his knees next to the wolf. He was massive, really, and the intelligence in his gaze left no doubts in the teen’s mind. He rested one hand tentatively on the wolf’s side, letting out the breath he’d been holding when the creature’s only reaction was to whine and rest his head on the boy’s leg.

Stiles picked up his phone from where it had fallen on the floor when the wolf first appeared and hit speed dial 2. When it was answered, he blurted out the words without taking a moment to talk himself out of it:

“Dad, you need to come back home quick or send over Uncle Sam. Peter Hale is in our kitchen, he’s like a full wolf, and I think he’s the alpha now.”


	3. Late Saturday and Sunday Morning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, guess who's not dead?
> 
> I kid, in a way. I haven't had much mojo or inclination to write here of late, mostly due to the restaurant job and my not-so-new-anymore job at a major home furnishings store. But Camp Nano is upon us yet again, and I've dusted off my keyboard to hop back to Beacon Hills and the Remington-Stilinski family.
> 
> Side note: I _did_ attempt to do Camp back in April, but found myself working on an aside set in this same 'verse. That's still incomplete but is going to be a (very) long one-shot... but I'll need to finish and post it before getting to a certain point in this story's timeline. Keep your eyes peeled for that, too.
> 
> Anyway, onward!

It was a good five minutes after hanging up with his dad -- Dean having promised to call his brother immediately upon ending the call -- before Stiles heard the sound of his Uncle Sam's Land Rover screeching into the driveway. Peter's ear flicked, and his head lifted off the teen's leg so he could sniff at the air.

The lock clicked on the front door, and the wolf was abruptly up and darting towards the living room. Stiles scrambled to his feet and followed just in time to see Peter dig his teeth -- carefully -- into Lydia's sweater and lightly tug her into the house. The girl looked more frustrated with the potential for slobber to get on the angora than with the fact that she was being herded around like an errant puppy, but she complied to keep the fabric from getting ripped. Uncle Sam closed the door behind him, locking it with one hand while frowning thoughtfully at the werewolf.

Stiles stepped into the room and moved towards the couch, noting that Peter seemed to be coaxing his cousin/friend in that direction. He dropped down onto it just as the wolf stopped tugging at Lydia and headbutted her carefully to sit down, only to let out a huff of air as Peter then proceeded to flop his entire body across the pair of them.

"What the fuck?"

"Language, young lady," Sam immediately scolded, drawing a fairly excellent Bitch Face from his adopted child.

"Sorry, Dad," she snarked, "I'm a little bit shocked to find the only wolf currently in Beacon Hills out and about when I visited his catatonic self just yesterday afternoon. Sue me."

Sam rolled his eyes and sighed, briefly questioning why he'd thought it was a good idea to adopt his wife's daughter before admitting that it was because she reminded him of himself at that age. For God's sake, she and Stiles even called each other "jerk" and "bitch" respectively when they were snarking at each other, and his nephew was every inch Dean Winchester's son despite not sharing a drop of blood between them.

(Also, Gabriel was a strong influence in that kid's life, and that was probably enough to make any demon wary of the boy.)

Shrugging off that train of thought, Sam turned his attention to his nephew. "Dean didn't really go into much detail on the phone," he said. "Probably because you gave him the highlights. What happened?"

Stiles dropped his head against the back of the couch, sighing softly even as his fingers dug into Peter's scruff and scratched lightly. "Dad had just headed out for his shift, and I was locking up," he started. "I had already hit the front door and was in the kitchen to get the back door when Cujo here just appeared out of nowhere. Pretty much demanded to be let in and then wouldn't let me get near the door. I called Dad as soon as I locked up, and then you guys got here."

Lydia frowned, absently petting the wolf's back and side. "Weird," she remarked. "I wasn't dreaming our trip to the hospital yesterday, right?" At her cousin's negative reply, she added, "So how is he out and about tonight, with no real sign that he was hospitalized to begin with?"

As if in reply to her question, Peter lifted his head and whined, eyes flashing red briefly before he settled in again.

All three humans went still, the new arrivals in shock and Stiles in an effort to assure the wolf that everyone was safe, that the territory (such as it was) was secure.

After a moment, Sam stepped into the hallway to call his brother. Someone needed to check up on the Hales that weren't living in Beacon Hills, and an inquiry from the Sheriff wouldn't be seen as suspicious.

Back in the living room, Lydia resumed petting the alpha and fixed her cousin with a Look. Over the past couple of years as relatives, the two had developed something of a private language. It involved pointed looks, a bit of Latin that she'd taught Stiles, and a little Enochian that he had picked up from Gabriel and in turn taught Lydia.

_"If Peter is an alpha..."_ she started.

He concluded, _"...then where's Laura, and what happened to her?"_

Still slumped across the teenagers, Peter let out another whine as he recognized the names. The kids fell silent, petting the wolf and listening to Sam's conversation on the phone.

 

 

It was nearly dawn by the time Dean was able to get away from the station and make his way home as quickly as possible, worried over what may have been happening in his town. For the past six years, things had been quiet for the most part - sure, there’d been a minor possession that he and Sam had handled with only a bit of help from Gabriel, with Natalie and the kids being back-up just in case something went sideways, but other than that nothing new under the sun.

And on the one night that he was looking forward to quietly finishing up paperwork and maybe sneaking off to the diner for a slice of pumpkin pie, Peter Hale somehow woke up as an alpha with no real explanation _why._

He screeched to a stop in the driveway, mentally apologizing to his squad car for the harsh treatment, and rushed to the door of his home. It took a moment to unlock the door and head inside, only to pause just inside the living room.

Sam was leaning on the wall, phone to his ear and a frown on his face as he listened to whomever was on the other end of the line (most likely Bobby), while Stiles and Lydia were leaning against one another on the couch, dead to the world in spite of their upright positions, one very large, fully-shifted werewolf sprawled out across them both with his head resting on the arm of the couch. Peter rolled his eyes towards Dean, huffed out a breath, and promptly closed his eyes dismissively.

“Well,” Dean found himself saying, “what the fuck.”

Deciding that everyone needed to eat and thankful that it was still the weekend, he headed into the kitchen and started pulling food out of the fridge. By the time he had the makings of several omelettes gathered, Sam had finished up his call and joined him. The younger brother started a pot of coffee brewing while the elder got to work on breakfast.

In the fifteen minutes it took for Dean to get the last of the omelettes started, Peter wandered into the kitchen - still on four legs - and parked himself by the back door, tall enough to stare out the window although the Remington-Stilinskis had no damned idea _what_ he was watching for. He was followed about five minutes later by Lydia and Stiles, who’d apparently woken up to the smell of food cooking and quickly set the table for four (although the girl hesitated for a brief moment before setting a fifth plate down on the floor for the wolf if he opted to join them).

Dean waited until everyone was seated and had served themselves from the platter to speak. “So, does anyone have some idea of what, exactly, is going on around here?”

Peter turned his gaze from the window for a moment to give the sheriff a Look (complete with a Tone, if Dean was honest with himself, and how the fuck did a fully-shifted wolf manage to inflict so much _sass_ without eyebrows?) before returning to his vigil. Stiles only offered up a shrug as he took a drink, while Lydia shot Sam a look of her own, one brow quirked at her adopted father.

Sam sighed and rubbed at his eyes. “I called Bobby,” and ha, Dean congratulated himself on his correct guess, “and told him what little we know: Peter woke up from his catatonic state, escaped from the hospital, and somehow became an alpha in just under an evening. He said we should probably try getting hold of Laura--”

Whatever he’d been about to say was cut off by a gut-wrenching howl from the wolf parked by the kitchen door. Peter followed this up by moving to crawl under the table and settle his weight between the teens, whining low in his throat the entire time.

All four people in the room froze before exchanging worried looks, Stiles dropping a hand to rest between Peter’s shoulders in an offer of comfort. Very softly, Lydia spoke:

“Uncle Dean, maybe you should send someone out to check around the old house in the Preserve. Say that you got a call at home from someone who thought they saw a couple kids messing around the ruins, or send one of the deputies in the know. I have a bad feeling about this.”

Sam’s expression shifted to something between frustrated and concerned. “Did you feel like you had to…?” he asked, trailing off as his daughter shook her head.

“No, but I never really met anyone in the family besides Uncle Peter.”

Dean pushed away from the table with a sigh. “I’m calling Tara,” he decided aloud. “Sheila will murder me if I call and pull her away from her husband and kid on a weekend when she’s actually at home.”

As he walked into the hallway, he snorted softly at his kid’s proclamation of “I will never get over the fact that awesome Deputy Sheila is married to _Finstock_ and is Greenburg’s _mom.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Um, yeah. For those thinking that last line came out of left field, go back and reread _Welcome to Beacon Hills, Please Enjoy the Rest of Your Life_ and note the surname for Deputy Sheila. I've implied more than once who she was in relation to canon characters both seen and unseen.


	4. Sunday Afternoon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More news comes in. It's not good.

Once Tara had been called and sent out to the old Hale house, Uncle Sam and Lydia headed off for their own home. Aunt Natalie had called to find out what had happened, and his uncle thought it would be best to go explain the situation in person. Stiles took the opportunity to send a good morning text to Erica, who answered quickly ( _omg family breakfast is on abuelita is making chorizo omelettes will talk to you later if i’m not in a food coma_ ), then wandered back into the living room to settle on the couch with his own files on the Argent family.

Dad had given him a look once he realized what the files were before heaving a sigh and going to retrieve his own cold case files to look over. Peter settled himself in the doorway between the living and dining rooms, head resting on his paws as he alternated between watching the Stilinskis with an almost obsessive determination and dozing off.

The house phone ringing just after twelve shattered the silence, and Dad got up to answer. Stiles paused in his work - unless he was mistaken, Kate Argent had fallen off the grid less than a year after leaving Beacon Hills and had yet to resurface under any known alias - to listen in to the only side of the conversation he could catch; Peter, on the other hand, was whining again and staring at the phone as if it was the source of all that was bad and wrong in the universe.

“Stilinski residence… oh, hi, Tara. Thanks for getting back to me so fast.”

A pause to listen.

“Did you call for backup?”

Another pause.

“Okay, go back for a second. You’re telling me that she was _dragged_ from the initial site and buried under some leaves by the damned house?”

Very long pause, and Stiles could almost hear Tara’s raised voice on the other end of the line. Finally Dad heaved a sigh.

“Get me the preliminary coroner’s report as soon as it’s finished and have it on my desk by morning if possible. I still need someone to track down her brother for me, and--”

Abrupt pause, as Tara had obviously cut off his dad’s words.

“Two joggers found _what?”_

Okay, that was something different. Stiles hauled himself off the couch and darted to the kitchen to pick up the other landline. He didn’t bother being covert, given that Dad had seen him get up, and neither his dad nor his deputy called him out when he started listening in.

_“--half a body,”_ Tara was saying, _“just off the advanced running trail. Haige called me while I was out here to let me know, and I headed that way to check it out. From what I could tell before getting the assistant coroner out to collect it, it looks to be female, no idea how old, wearing blue jeans and hiking boots.”_

Dad groaned, and from where he was standing Stiles could see him rub at his eyes. “So rather than one mystery death was now have two possible murders on our hands. And this was such a quiet weekend up til now.”

_“Sorry, Dean,”_ the deputy said apologetically. _“Should I head back to the station and start rallying the troops?”_

“Yeah, thanks, Tara. I’ll call Sheila on the way to get her, swing into Starbucks to make up for dragging her away from family time,” he said, adding a quick farewell before hanging up. Stiles followed suit, biting back a grin at Tara’s _goodbye, nosy_ as he did.

“Half a body?” he asked, raising his left hand to his mouth and biting at the thumbnail nervously.

Dad sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Not Laura’s, though,” he said, moving to crouch beside a whimpering Peter and stroke his back in a soothing manner. “She was intact, although from what Tara said it looks like she was shot in the back with a wolfsbane round. The second corpse, though, who the hell knows.”

Stiles frowned. “You’ve gotta go in, don’t you.” It wasn’t a question.

Dad didn’t treat it as one, either. “Unfortunately. I’m gonna have as many deputies as I can combing the preserve for the other half of the body, but I’ll personally start near the ruins. I need to see for myself where she was placed and if there’s any evidence that might be overlooked by my deputies who have no clue what all in running around this town.”

The teen nodded. “Okay,” he said reluctantly. “Be careful, old man. Uncle Gabe will kill _me_ if he comes home and you’re not in one piece.”

Dad chuckled wryly, pulling Stiles into a brief but tight hug. “You stay here and keep an eye on things,” he said, side-eyeing Peter and giving his son a stern look. “And don’t forget you have school in the morning. If you want, call Lydia over to keep you two company.”

“Will do, Daddy-o,” Stiles replied, watching his dad head for the stairs before returning to the living room and his files. He had a feeling that this whole mess involved hunters, and he would eat his favorite tee-shirt if some Argent or a hanger-on wasn’t watching to see what happened next.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't get used to this frequent updating shit. I'mma gonna build up a surplus here soon, because...
> 
> (1) I am taking less hours at the restaurant job, but that doesn't mean more writing time, as
> 
> (2) I got a promotion at the furniture store job, leading to more work hours there.
> 
> This is a good thing, since it means that I can get benefits now for me and the other half, so more hours equals more money in the long run. Those hours kick in starting Sunday, with a work week of 25 hours at the furniture store and 8 at the restaurant.
> 
> So, stay tuned, feel free to guess where I'm going (even if some of what I'm seeing in the comments is so very off-course), and enjoy my crazy.


	5. Sunday Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. This is where more begins to happen.
> 
> And I'm sure someone will realize a few secrets I've kept.

The sun had already set, and Stiles was giving some serious thought to giving up for the night and going to bed.

After Dad left for the station (and to appease his scary deputy, because Sheila was a mama bear and would verbally flay _anyone_ who interrupted Family Time), the teen had gone back to his file and reread everything in it before running upstairs for his laptop. He’d hauled it back down and set about using a bit of Google-fu and possibly shady methodology to dig for more information on the Argent clan.

In spite of his efforts, he’d still turned up jack on Kate Argent’s travels after she’d left Beacon Hills. The last solid report of her was five years ago in Albuquerque, then she’d fallen off the grid entirely. She had a defunct MySpace page (in full nineties glory, for the love of God, there was even an embedded midi), no Facebook presence at all, and if she was on LinkedIn, then it was under an unknown alias.

On the other hand, he turned up a _shitload_ on one Christopher Argent (his LinkedIn page stated he was currently an arms dealer for police departments and the military) and his wife Victoria (Facebook, filled with family photos, haute couture photography, and cat memes). Through that, he’d found that there was very little online contact between them and Gerard (also found through LinkedIn, but only one mutual contact between the two men) and that there was apparently a baby hunter who was being kept out of things.

Stiles shut down the laptop and placed it on the table, rubbing at one eye with the heel of his hand as he stood. “I think it’s time to crash for the night, huh, Uncle Peter?” he asked, turning his attention to the wolf.

Said wolf lifted his head and let out a yawn, ears flicking back before swiveling forward again.

Stiles snickered and scratched the wolf’s head. “Yeah, and tomorrow school starts up again so--”

Peter’s head snapped around towards the back door, muzzle twisting into a snarl as he began to stalk towards it slowly. Stiles only had enough time to blink before the wolf let out a short howl and slammed his entire mass against the door, nearly knocking it off the hinges.

“Whoa, hey, what the hell?” the teen exclaimed, moving to the kitchen to make sure that the door and the frame weren’t damaged. Peter didn’t respond to him, only snarling more and slamming into the closed door again, shaking the entire wall as he had the previous evening from the other side.

Deciding that it would be best to keep property damage to a minimum, Stiles unlocked the door and threw it open, only for the wolf to dart out and vanish into the woods behind the house.

“Oh my God, _seriously?”_ Stiles lamented. “Now I have to go corral my honorary werewolf uncle and keep him away from the entire Beacon Hills Police Department, plus make it back home and get some sleep before school. No biggie. Fuck my life.”

He turned to grab a flashlight out of the junk drawer, made sure that the damned thing worked, and shrugged on his jacket. He may as well get started if he was ever going to catch up to Peter at all.

 

 

Half an hour later, Stiles was still trying to track down the wolf.

He’d already had one close call, nearly walking out into a clearing where Sheila and one of the newbies were canvassing, and only his familiarity with the woman’s take-no-shit temperament -- even aimed at someone else -- saved him from moving into their line of sight. He was also _really_ damned lucky the dogs hadn’t sniffed him out yet, given that he’d heard them twice now and was pretty positive that they would realize he was out here sooner or later, at which point they’d likely converge on him for treats and scritchies.

...what? So he spoiled the K-9s a bit. So what?

“Five more minutes,” he complained to himself, “then Uncle Peter can fend for himself.”

He clicked off the flashlight for a moment, letting his eyes adjust to the surrounding darkness before closing them to listen the way Dad and Uncle Sam had taught him on more than one impromptu camping trip. He heard the usual sounds of the woods at night -- owls in the trees, crickets, small prey animals trying to remain hidden, and small predators slinking through the underbrush -- before catching what sounded to be a larger animal rushing through the nearby bushes.

Stiles opened his eyes and flicked the flashlight back on, turning the beam just in time for the light to catch on red-brown fur.

“Damn it, Uncle Peter,” he grumbled under his breath, moving swiftly to follow. The wolf was, quite obviously, faster than he was, but Stiles was determined to catch up before the deputies -- or worse, his dad -- caught sight of him.

He stopped abruptly at the edge of the treeline, eyes widening in terror as he realized just what the hell was going on in front of him.

Peter was there, yes, and he was very angry.

However, Stiles’ attention was on the _other_ werewolf in the clearing that was snarling right back at his uncle.

The other one was the stuff of late night horror movies. He -- She -- _It_ was no Lon Chaney Jr.; fuck no, this guy looked like something straight out of _The Howling_. It moved on all fours as it circled Peter, snarling and growling in challenge, but Stiles could see where it would easily be able to stand and use its front paws as hands. Its eyes were a burning, unwavering red, and unless the teen was mistaken, there was blood already dripping from its fangs.

He didn’t even dare to breathe, but his heartbeat must have been loud enough; Monster Alpha’s attention snapped from the threat of Peter to Stiles, and its muzzle twisted into what could have been a smirk.

Stiles noticed that there was _something_ weird about its eyes, aside from the burning hellfire red. There was some pretty intensive scarring around the sockets, and the fur/skin/whatever around them was blackened and cracked. If it wasn’t for the fact that those eyes were locked onto him, the teen would have bet money that the thing was blind.

Then Monster Alpha roared and lunged at him. Stiles let out a short cry of surprise and fell backwards even as he caught a flash of fur from the corner of his eye.

The beast never got near him; Peter all but tackled the other alpha, going for Monster Alpha’s throat with a vicious snarl. The two wolves began to tear into each other, but the fight was lopsided somehow.

Unless Stiles missed his guess, Monster Alpha was _losing._

 _Of course,_ he realized, moving to sit up and watch the two alphas tearing into one another. _This is Hale territory. Uncle Peter has the home field advantage._

Monster Alpha let out a yowl and rose onto its hind legs, swiping at Peter with one powerful forepaw. The move served to distract the smaller wolf, although it wasn’t a further attack. Once Peter backed up and prepared to attack again, Monster Alpha took off deeper into the preserve.

Peter took a few steps to follow, growling low in his throat before pausing and turning his head to where Stiles was still seated on the ground. Rather than give chase, he whined softly and moved over to the teen, sniffing at his hair and neck before flopping across him and letting out a satisfied huff.

That was where Dean and Tara found them not ten minutes later.

Stiles was never so happy to be scolded and sent back home in his life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone thinks they may know a few of the things I've been hiding, PM me rather than leave a comment. That way, I can tell you if you're right or wrong.
> 
> If you ask in the comments, I'll only respond for you to PM me, or reply via PM. No spoilers in the comments!!


	6. Monday Morning: Back to School

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The day started off so well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First off, thank you to everyone who is following this little forray into my insanity. I love all the comments, even if I fail so hard at replying to them! If you have any questions, hit me up by email and I'll happily respond.
> 
> That said, someone has already figured out a teeny bit of where I'm going, but I'll hold off on an in-fic reveal for a bit. There's still an entire first season of TW for me to get through, even with the changes worked into this 'verse.

Thankfully there had been no further drama for the night, and Stiles was able to get a whopping five hours of sleep before having to get up for school.

Granted, he was up a full hour and a half before he really _needed_ to be in order to get ready for the day, but Peter had barged into his room at the crack of dawn and pulled the covers off of him with his teeth. That was followed by two hundred pounds of fully shifted werewolf flopping bodily across the teenager and licking at his face until the boy finally wriggled away from the affectionate alpha.

Given that he’d had more than enough time to shower the weird evening off _and_ make breakfast for both himself and the alpha -- as well as prepare a plate for Dad when he got home and throw something into the crockpot for dinner that evening -- Stiles texted Scott and Lydia both to see if they needed a ride to school.

Scott replied immediately, saying he was riding his bike in since he was still “pre-training” for lacrosse season but that he’d talk to his best friend before class started.

Lydia responded about five minutes later to say thanks but no, she was still fighting with Jackson and was planning to leave her place the _second_ the “spineless son of a bitch” drove past so she could confront him before he got through the front door.

Stiles huffed a laugh. “Jackson seriously doesn’t know how lucky he is,” he informed his uncle, who simply flicked an ear at the statement. “Lydia can do so much better.

“Anyway,” he added, leaning down to wrap his arms around the wolf’s neck and allow the alpha to scent him, “I gotta get going. Dad should be home in a couple hours, but I left the back door open a bit so you can leave if you need to.”

With one last scratch behind an ear -- and he really, really hoped Peter shifted back sooner rather than later -- Stiles snatched up his keys and backpack and headed out the door for school.

 

 

Stiles stared at his best friend, mouth opened slightly at the news the other had given him nearly the second he’d arrived at school and asked how he was this morning.

_And the day started off so well,_ he thought mournfully, _even with the possible double homicide on Saturday night._

“I’m sorry, I must have had an auditory hallucination there for a second,” he said aloud. “Could you maybe run that by me one more time?”

Scott frowned at him but complied: “I said, I was out in the Preserve last night after dark because I think I lost my inhaler while running earlier, and some big dog thing bit me.”

“So, show me,” the other boy demanded, shrugging his backpack up higher and wistfully wishing that everything from the weekend was just… not something that was happening. Even the whole Peter thing, because as nice as it was that his uncle was mobile again, it would have been nicer if the trade off wasn’t the end to whatever passed for _normal_ in Beacon Hills.

“It’s not as bad as I thought it was,” Scott replied, pulling his shirt up out of the way to show Stiles the bandage wrapped around his torso. The covered area was seeping slightly, but it was nowhere near how much a fresh bite should have been and was located just above the boy’s left hip. “It probably just looked worse because it was dark.”

“You should probably get it checked out anyway, bro,” Stiles insisted, even though he was now approximately ninety-eight percent positive that his friend had had a run-in with Monster Alpha and was now on the road to running around the woods eating rabbits. “Like, I don’t know, have your mom take a look or something.”

Scott looked appalled. “I can’t do that, Stiles!” he exclaimed. “Mom doesn’t know I was out last night. She told me to stay home, and I said that I would. She’ll kill me if she knows I snuck out!”

“She’ll kill you if that becomes infected and you die of rabies,” the older boy replied. He spotted Lydia stalking up the stairs, hair loose around her shoulders and murder in her eyes. A quick glance from the corner of his eye told him that, yep, Jackson had somehow managed to sneak past his cousin and was booking it into the school as fast as he could without breaking into a run.

Stiles took a second to call out, “Hey, Lydia! You’ll catch him in Chemistry!”

The strawberry blonde gave him a fierce grin. “You bet your ass I will,” she returned before leaning in to drop a quick kiss on his cheek. “Bitch.”

“Jerk,” he said automatically before turning back to Scott. “But really, you need to get that looked at. Maybe Deaton can just check it for you.”

“He’s the vet.”

“So?” Stiles just managed to keep from adding, _And if I’m right, you’ll be a warm and fuzzy puppy yourself so it wouldn’t be a big change for him._

Scott huffed and turned to walk into the building. Stiles just grinned and followed.

The first real sign that Scott was definitely a new card-carrying member of the Full Moon Club was the confused expression on his face as he looked around their math classroom. Stiles took note of that, wondering if he was hearing something that wasn’t in the room and was distracted.

The fact that the other moved his head around as if tracking someone was the second sign. Stiles’ attention only turned from Scott when the door to the classroom opened and the vice-principal walked in with a new student. On first glance, she was kind of cute in a Disney princess kind of way. Brown hair, dark eyes... and she had actual honest to God dimples when she smiled at the teacher.

“Class,” the vice-principal introduced, “this is Allison Argent. Please make her feel welcome.”

_This can’t be a coincidence,_ Stiles thought to himself as the girl -- Allison fucking Argent, what the actual _fuck?_ \-- walked by his desk and dropped into the empty seat behind Scott. Said boy immediately turned around and silently handed his pen to the girl, who blinked in confusion but smiled gratefully at the gesture.

_Oh, you’ve **got** to be joking,_ he added as Scott blushed slightly and smiled. _The werewolf puppy and the baby hunter. My life is a fucking dark comedy._

Stiles decided right then and there, no matter what else happened today, that he was heading straight home after school and telling his dad to get Uncle Gabriel back in town like _yesterday._ This whole situation was heading rapidly into FUBAR territory, and he wanted holy vengeance to be on immediate call if necessary.


	7. Monday Continued

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The day commences. Things don't exactly improve.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a quick note here, and it'll be repeated at the end as well:
> 
> Please be aware that we are, in story, currently caught up with TW Season 1. Which means that in story, it is late November 2011, not 2016. So any comments saying that I've got a wrong date in the story will be deleted; I know what I'm doing, and the 2012 Summer Olympics have yet to happen in the story's timeline.

It didn’t even take until Chemistry for Lydia to get wind of the new wrinkle in the world of Beacon Hills. They had barely even finished third period and were getting ready to head off to lunch when Stiles got a series of texts from his favorite semi-cousin.

The first of the three texts was, _Hey, bitch, I got a new best friend._

The second read, _She’s from L.A. and said that she was in math with you and Scott for first period._

The third one was his personal high point of the morning: _Why the fuck didn’t you tell me she was an Argent?!?!_

That was the one he finally replied to: _When did you let me get a word in sideways, jerk?_

So he was honestly expecting it when, upon walking into the cafeteria, Lydia grabbed his arm and dragged him _right_ back out again. She didn’t let go until they were in the music room, ignoring the odd looks they were getting from the other sophomores and the few juniors still lingering in the hall either skipping class or taking their time to get to lunch.

“An Argent, Stiles?!” Lydia nearly shrieked the second the door slid shut behind them. “How did an Argent get into our town without you noticing?”

Stiles huffed in annoyance. “Believe me, Lyds, I’m asking myself that same question,” he replied. “I’m even _more_ annoyed since I was looking up Argents last night and they managed to slip into Beacon Hills unnoticed.” He paused before adding, “And by the way, more happened last night than just me doing research.”

At his cousin’s curious look, he explained everything, from the second Peter had darted out into the woods till Scott yanked the rug out from under him with the bite reveal this morning. As Stiles spoke, Lydia’s expression tightened until her lips were pressed into a thin, annoyed line.

“How,” she asked evenly, “how the hell does _your_ BFF manage to fall headfirst into this sort of thing?”

The boy gave Lydia a Look. “You say that like he’s been bitten by supposedly mythical beasts every third Sunday of the month,” he drawled sarcastically.

His cousin sighed. “No, I mean first he gets bitten by some freak rogue alpha in the Preserve, then he manages to fall head over feet for hunter royalty. Before all this, he somehow stumbled onto the lacrosse team -- and I still don’t know why you won’t just take on being honorary assistant coach since you create more plays than you see time on the field -- and before _that_ he managed to be our eighth grade class president. Without even running!”

Stiles blinked. “I think I see your point,” he replied. “Scott lives a ridiculously charmed life. But this time, I don’t think it’s a good thing.”

Lydia’s shoulders relaxed and she slumped with a sigh. “You’re right, of course,” she said. “Becoming a werewolf is going to make his life both easier and harder. Less likely to die from an asthma attack... but more likely to get shot by my new bestie’s parents with a metaphorical silver bullet.”

“Hell, maybe a real one, too,” Stiles added, reminding his cousin. “Your dad _did_ say that apparently some omega wolves could be badly injured by those things, even if wolves in a pack only feel like it stings.”

“Oh, _goddammit!”_ the girl exclaimed, causing her cousin to startle. “We have to tell our dads about this, too!”

Stiles froze, eyes going distant as he realized one more thing. “I was thinking about that this morning, honestly. And to make it _more_ fun, I don’t think Uncle Peter knows that someone was bitten.”

Lydia groaned and slumped against the wall. “Oh, this is fantastic. More overprotective and possessive scenting is in our immediate future, cousin mine.”

The boy nodded slowly, a small frown still on his face. “We worry about that after lacrosse practice,” he decided. “For now, we pull ourselves together, pretend we don’t know the Argent clan from Grandma Moses, and get through the rest of the day.”

Lydia let out another sigh before moving to stand up straight once again. She took a deep breath and pulled her usual Queen Bee persona on. Stiles was honestly in awe over how effortlessly she made herself out to be the bitchy mean girl when in her spare time she was more invested in solving supposedly unsolvable math problems and aiming for a future Fields Medal.

“Well, then,” she said, “we should probably go to lunch so that the day can be done faster. And you, mister,” she added, poking Stiles’ chest with one finger, “are going to talk to Finstock about that unofficial assistant coach position.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he replied with a grin. In spite of the trouble they were soon to be facing, Lydia could always manage to make him smile just for a little while.

 

 

The rest of the day went… well, relatively smoothly. Scott was still blatantly looking around for whatever little sound had caught his attention, much to the confusion of everyone who had ever crossed paths with him; Lydia had managed to pin down Jackson for more than ten seconds and inform him just how much trouble he was still in for whatever he’d done to piss her off over Thanksgiving break, which led to Jackson being in a pissy mood for Chemistry; and Stiles was able to slide into said classroom both early enough to grab a seat across the aisle from Erica, thus leading to him and Danny Mahealani’s station being near their respective girlfriend and crush, yet late enough that Jackson had no time to take his mood out on the sheriff’s son.

And then it was time for lacrosse practice slash tryouts.

The thing about Beacon Hills High was this: it was a big enough school to boast both a lacrosse and football team, but it was small enough that anyone who tried out for either team made the team regardless of skill level. Stiles was currently First String Benchwarmer, along with Scott, Isaac Lahey (aka he whom Danny had the most adorable crush on), and Jared Greenberg. Neither Stiles nor Isaac minded the bench -- Stiles because he could better formulate plays from the sideline and help to work out the kinks in said plays during practice -- and Greenberg mostly hung around for the sole purpose of annoying the piss out of his father without his mom around to play referee, but Scott wanted to be first line.

And now, because of the fact that he was on the supernatural train, it was looking very much like Scott was going to get his wish.

“Oh my God,” Stiles complained, rubbing at his eyes as his best friend made an effortless flip over Jackson and flung the ball into the net, much to Danny’s bemusement. “No tact at all, for fuck’s sake.”

“Hey, Stilinski,” Greenberg hissed, leaning over and frowning. “Why’s McCall doing an impression of an Olympic gymnast?”

“Because he’s planning to qualify for the 2012 games,” Stiles shot back. “He’s really gunning for the gold. Team USA.”

Greenberg rolled his eyes and muttered something about talking to his mom tonight, and the other boy wished him the best on that. Dad never really mentioned _how_ Deputy Sheila knew the things she knew, but Stiles suspected that either she or Coach had some supernatural connection; who knew just how much his classmate knew about how things really went down from time to time in Beacon Hills?

He tuned back into the situation before him just in time to hear Coach say something about first line and co-captain, and groaned. Of course his best friend had no level of chill whatsoever and slammed straight into showing off once he realized everything was easier today, including breathing. Why not, right?

Stiles managed to put on a smile and congratulate Scott on making the cut while at the same time cursing him in his head. The whole crazy-ass situation was going to be more difficult to manage now, and his entire family was going to have fits over this lacrosse thing.

“Oh, yeah!” Scott said suddenly, interrupting Stiles’ train of thought. “I never did find my inhaler last night. Can you come with me to look? I don’t have a lot of time before I gotta be at Deaton’s for work.”

_Oh, yes,_ Stiles thought sarcastically. _I wanna do nothing more than run around the preserve and get Monster Alpha’s attention again. When can we go?_

Out loud, he replied, “Yeah, sure, man. I’ll drop you off at work afterwards, too.”

Because _like hell_ he was letting his best friend out of his sight before he was safely indoors at nightfall. The full moon was Friday, and that was just under five days to get the other boy caught up with all things supernatural.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And to reiterate my author's note at the beginning, for the people who skip that sort of thing:
> 
> Please be aware that we are, in story, currently caught up with TW Season 1. Which means that in story, it is late November 2011, not 2016. So any comments saying that I've got a wrong date in the story will be deleted; I know what I'm doing, and the 2012 Summer Olympics have yet to happen in the story's timeline.


	8. Author's Note

Sadly, due to a lack of interest on my part, this story is going on an indefinite hiatus. My apologies to those who were following and hoping for more, I cannot offer anything at this time.

Maybe someday I will return to this universe. But for now, anyone wanting to play in this sandbox is welcome to.


End file.
